No Perfect Hero(78)

“Good Blake. He did you a solid.” Stewart sighs. “It’s been thirteen years, Warren. You gotta let this go.”

“I can’t,” I snarl. “He already took Jenna, and now he’s after Grandma.”

He blinks. “After Ms. Wilma? What the hell do you mean?”

“She’s talking to him about investing. Partial ownership of Brody’s and the inn after she retires,” I grind out through my teeth. “He’s doing it just to get at me. The fuck knows I’m onto him.”

“War.” Stew’s voice is almost pitying, and I hate it. “You’ve got to stop with these conspiracy theories. Jenna’s death was a mistake of wartime action. You want to blame someone, blame the bastard militias in those hills. Taliban never did fight fair.”

“Wrong. There were no fucking enemy combatants on the field that day. And you told me you saw him standing over her. Just her and Bress and a whole baffled crew of minesweepers.”

He frowns. “How'd you know that for sure? You were deployed a hundred miles away. Out on a scouting mission, weren't you?”

“Yeah,” I growl. “Bress had witnesses other than you. He just doesn’t know it yet. A few of those boys in the minesweeper saw Jenna when she went down.”

“The sweepers? Nah, they didn't show up till–”

“The official report was wrong, Stew. Worse than wrong. I think somebody doctored up the whole damn chain of events and the timestamps on the testimonies.”

Stewart’s face drops. He's quiet for several moments. The look he gives me is thoughtful, concerned, and I’m starting to wonder if I need to be worried about him doing something drastic, like calling in the police. “War, what are you planning? You’re not up to anything illegal, are you?”

“You don’t need to know. It’s better if you don’t. I'm not gonna kill nobody, so don't worry.”

Not unless I fucking have to, I think to myself, hoping it doesn't come to that.

I settle in against the truck bed, trying to soothe my hot rage, and glare down the darkened street. “Just trust me to get a confession. That's all I'm after. The truth from the horse's own damn mouth. I’ll find out what really happened when she died—and he’ll learn not to lie to me. No one in your old unit has his back anymore. Not after what he did.”

“No one’s gonna have your back, either, if you kill him.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” I snort. “Just going to make sure he suffers behind bars for the rest of his life. I’m doing this for Jenna, so I’ll do it Jenna’s way. By the book and by the law. If I had my choice...”

“Yeah. Thank God you don't.” Stewart sighs. “You’re still tangling yourself up in some dangerous shit. Maybe if no one’s found anything after this long, there’s a reason.”

“Reason? It's called Bress’ blood money. Plain and simple. Just leave it the fuck alone, Stew.”

“And what about Haley and Tara?” he asks. “What happens with them when you go chasing after your man and get hurt or thrown in the slammer?”

“Won’t happen,” I point out. “Hay and Tara are my business. Why the hell does everybody need to weigh in about our relationship?”

“So there is a relationship?”

“There’s...something,” I grunt. “Fuck. I promised her I’d pick up mushrooms. I’ve gotta go.”

“Aren’t you the domestic,” he retorts. “Tell her the car’s fine, by the way. Turns out I found a working part in the back. Should have it back to her in a day or two.”

My only answer is a middle finger tossed over my shoulder as I climb back in my truck and floor it to the grocery store.

I can’t believe Stewart used Hay to try to keep me away from Bress. I don’t know what worries me more.

That Hay’s got me on such a leash it almost worked? Or that Stew’s starting to stick his nose in more and more?

Part of me wonders why?

And the rest of me is a little afraid to find out.





15





Heaven At Home (Haley)





I’m starting to think, when the time comes, I’m going to catch hell prying Tara away from Heart’s Edge and sending her back home to her parents in Seattle.

I hadn’t realized, when I first saw the main house at Charming Inn, that it was built around an atrium.

Ms. Wilma keeps a beautiful glassed-in courtyard that’s only accessible from the side of the inn set apart for private family residency. The entire place is filled with life and light, with dripping honeysuckle vines festooned everywhere, a little pond, hanging trellises of fragrant jasmine, tall waving lilies and even cattails transplanted to line the edges of the glimmering pool.

Sunlight streams down in pale golden shafts, glinting off the jewel-toned shimmer of tiny hummingbirds that dart eagerly between the honeysuckle and jasmine blooms like they can't decide which sweet blossoms to feed on next.

And Tara’s in heaven, kicking her feet on the little swing dangling from the low-hanging branch of a small but ancient gnarled oak. It was probably here even before the house.

It’s so brilliant, so picturesque, and the dimming light of the sunset does nothing to dampen it.